Sometimes “glorious” gets thrown around haphazardly to describe a fall day that is merely nice, and sometimes I am he who does the careless throwing. But today lived up to the hyperbole: blue skies, soft light, a crisp 61-degrees. And so we packed a picnic and headed out to points southern, a favorite old weekend haunt, the tire playground at Tuckahoe State Park.

The tire park is special in various ways. Pretty much everything is either made of old tires.

And it’s the only playground we know of with dangling ropes for reckless swinging.

It also offers your standard fare playground options.

But really, the tires are the main event. Where else can one get so intimate with discarded hunks of tough, round rubber?

Where else can one climb on such giant-yet-soft-and-sturdy pyramids?

Where else can one not only climb and stand upon a truly massive tire…

But also be literally consumed by it?

The kids spent easily an hour inside of this one, hiding, playing, and hatching nefarious schemes (which will be detailed shortly).

Their minds full of revolution, my three young charges nevertheless suffered from the problem of grumbling bellies, and so we paused on a bench to do something about it.

But once the sandwiches were gone, I saw them whispering conspiratorially near the tire pyramid. Kato came over to me, and doing his best to seem innocent and trustworthy, told me that he had found my hat. (My hat had been missing for approximately an hour, stolen by Alden, who promised that nothing too dire would happen to it.)

I was pleased to see my hat. I bent down to pick it up.

Too late, alas. You keen observers will note the slender chain of carefully tied stems connecting my hat and…

…who lurked within the pyramid, waiting for me to take the bait. As I tried to grab my hat, it darted away from me. I followed it, of course. I really like that hat. But once I’d followed my hat inside the pyramid, I found myself surrounded. The entrances were blocked.

I was entirely trapped.

But just to be sure I would not try to run, I was tethered by unbreakable chains.

The jailer was gleeful.

My situation was dire.

And remains as such. When I wasn’t looking, August slipped my keychain from my pocket, and, as I remained bound, the three of them ran away giggling. Looking over at the parking lot, I see the car is no longer there. And the sun is starting to set. And the sandwiches are long since gone.

Which is to say, if you’re anywhere near Tuckahoe and have a set of sturdy cable cutters in your possession, please head for the gigantic pyramid. The kids also got my wallet, so I can’t exactly pay you, but I do have a tube of Chap Stick and a bag of Cheetos dust to offer in return.